


There Should Be a Word for This

by Philipa_Moss



Category: Cambridge Spies
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:New Year Resolutions 2008, recipient:hammerxsword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philipa_Moss/pseuds/Philipa_Moss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guy Burgess and Anthony Blunt discuss friendship and test its definition. A little smut, a little substance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Should Be a Word for This

  


  
  
  
  
  


  
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## There Should Be a Word for This

 

Fandom: [Cambridge Spies](http://yuletidetreasure.org/get_fandom_quicksearch.cgi?Fandom=Cambridge%20Spies)

 

Written for: hammerxsword in the New Year Resolutions 2008 Challenge

by [phillippa_moss](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/contact.cgi?filename=58/thereshould)

"There should be a word for this," said Guy. It was unclear to Anthony to what he was referring. Was it the toasting fork he was holding, or was it the sausage he had speared at the end of the toasting fork, or was it something else entirely? You never knew with Guy. Half the time, to hear him speak, you couldn't be sure whether he himself knew.

And so, playing into his hands, "There should be a word for what?" asked Anthony, failing to keep composure as Guy started to eat the sausage.

Guy caught his eye and grinned. "What? Offending your spinsterly sensibilities, am I? Should I chew and then swallow?"

"Do as you like," said Anthony, turning to his own breakfast. "Just eat it and stop fellating the thing." He could feel rather than hear Guy's snicker. But he knew it had occurred. Not that he was going to give Guy the satisfaction of another reaction. "There should be a word for what?" he repeated, eyes on his eggs, which quivered when Guy used the table as leverage and tilted back on two chair legs.

"This thing between us," Guy said.

"What, our friendship do you mean?" asked Anthony, drawn by the tone in Guy's voice to look at him again. The other man was hovering dangerously close to toppling over backwards in his chair and yet was maintaining a remarkable degree of poise. "If you mean that then a perfectly good word already exists."

"And what is that?"

Anthony rolled his eyes. "Friendship. I should have thought as much was obvious."

Guy's face turned red from the periphery inwards. First his ears and hairline and chin and then his cheeks and forehead and finally his nose and he scrunched his eyes shut and roared with laughter. The chair clunked heavily back onto the kitchen floor and Anthony couldn't help but think of Jack's response when he returned from his mother's. ("Chippin' the tiles?" he would groan. "Buncha brainless toffs, you lot are.")

"I don't see what's so funny."

"You!" Guy wheezed, and took a gulp of tea. He paused in his mirth to frown at the cup. "What's that?"

"Black. That is how you take it, isn't it?"

"In a manner of speaking." Guy got up and walked into the sitting room. "I was laughing," he shouted from the other room, "because you sounded so prim. So headmaster-y."

Anthony raised his own voice to respond, knowing at some level that he was making a fool of himself and Guy had some devious conversational ha-ha ready that he could not yet make out. "I suppose I am. Is that entirely a bad thing?"

Guy returned with a bottle of whiskey. "Good God, man, there's no need to shout," he said, smirking. He poured a gulp into his tea and raised the bottle towards Anthony, who flattened his hand over the top of his cup and shook his head. "Your loss," he said, and added another dollop before replacing the bottle in the other room.

Anthony waited until he had returned and stirred his tea and taken a sip and smiled before picking up once more the conversation that, he was even surer now, must necessarily end badly for him. "If you object to calling our friendship a friendship, what do you suggest?"

"That's the thing," Guy said, laying each word out on the air between then separately. "The right word doesn't exist. Are we friends? Yes, but then again no because friends don't, strictly speaking, fuck each other."

Anthony colored from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair. He set his teacup back down. "When have we ever----"

"Oh don't worry. We will eventually, I'm sure," said Guy. "You're the mysterious stranger and I'm the loveable philanderer. It was ordained by literature, as it were. You should know that."

"I read mathematics."

"Well it's all Greek to me," said Guy. "No, but, alright, if you accept the fucking and the fact that friendship doesn't quite cover it, could you think of something else to call it?"

"A marriage of convenience?" offered Anthony dryly.

Guy laughed, mouth wide open. "Now that's more like it. I had toyed with the phrase cottagers, but you've never been one for the better tiled, porcelain pursuits."

"Ours is a platonic love," said Anthony, thinking to hell with it and going along with Guy's madness for the moment.

Guy snickered. "Hardly. If you're the older man, then I'm an old maid's cunt."

Anthony squirmed. "Alright, alright. To what does this tend, Guy? What is to be gained by this?"

Guy leaned back in the chair again, this time with more panache. He even managed to spread his legs and Anthony looked everywhere but at the presence where Guy's trouser seams met.

"Well I was rather hoping you would make it easier for me by eliminating some of the confusion."

"I'm sorry I haven't been much help," Anthony said apologetically. "Donald's the wordsmith, not I."

Guy looked at him steadily. "And Kim's the liar, or at least the better one. Not you. You know exactly what I want."

Anthony looked at his toast. "I don't know what you mean, Guy. Now if you don't mind I have some things to drop off at the ministry before we meet with----"

Before there was even time to register the crash of the teacup on the floor, or the chipping of another tile as Guy's chair grated to four-legged standstill, Anthony was aware of a rushing, and a warmth enveloping the front of him and the fact that he was pressed uncomfortably against the countertop, a dull cheese grater at his back.

Then it became apparent that Guy was kissing him, if this could be called kissing, this acrobatic assault of the senses that was occurring at the same time as Guy was reaching between them and furiously undoing the front of his trousers. His trousers. His or Guy's? Anthony couldn't tell. Was this kissing? No, but it was alright.

Guy leaned in and brought his mouth to Anthony's ear. He bit it. He asked hoarsely, "What attitude would you like to assume in this?"

"Attitude?" It was all Anthony could do to answer. The friction between them now was almost unbearable and he shoved his head against Guy's neck, straining.

"Position," Guy whispered.

"Position?" Anthony bit down on his tongue, hard. He drew blood. There was iron in his mouth. Guy's hand was wrapped around him and was stroking. "I... Ohgod. I..."

"Make up your mind," said Guy. "I'm versatile." His mouth found Anthony's and Anthony tasted his own blood on Guy's tongue and all of a sudden all he needed was this. He tried to reciprocate, tried to get his own hand down Guy's trousers, but he couldn't orient himself. He squeezed his eyes shut against Guy's shoulder and breathed hard, open mouthed.

"Fuck this," Guy said, and all of a sudden the shoulder was gone and Anthony was left with cold kitchen air. He only had a split second to think was that it before there was a hint of a breath on his cock and he was gone. "I, I don't...Oh God, oh God, I'm going to..." There was a rush and a spasm and Anthony slid to the floor, eyes still squeezed shut.

"Shit," Guy said.

Anthony opened his eyes and almost laughed.

"Don't you dare laugh you bloody ponce," Guy said, in his rage hilarious. "You've come all over my hair."

Anthony did laugh, albeit weakly.

"That's easy for you to say," said Guy, getting up and leaning over the sink, wetting his hair under the tap. "You're not covered in your best friend's sperm."

Anthony got up unsteadily and stood behind Guy. "Is that what we are? Best friends?"

"I suppose," said Guy, straightening suddenly and shaking his hair, dog-like. "Why? Can you come up with anything?"

"I've got some things in mind," said Anthony, reaching his arms around to Guy's front. "I could list them for you, if you want."

"You know what I want."

"I suppose I do." Anthony smiled. "Best friends shall have to do for now."

They made it out of the kitchen somehow.

 Please [post a comment](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/comment.cgi?filename=58/thereshould&filetype=html&title=There%20Should%20Be%20a%20Word%20for%20This) on this story.

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